


Another Round

by abigail89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Ridiculousness, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2011-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys of Gryffindor ’98 get together at Christmas.  There are questions answered and not answered.  Set generously into the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Round

**Author's Note:**

> Written for cephalopinguin for the 2011 Harry & Ron holiday fest. Beta'ed by aome.

“Oi! Harry! Over here!”

Harry Potter can hardly miss the flock of waving arms and hands from the table in the corner. It's _their_ table in _their_ corner of The Three Broomsticks. At times it really _does_ pay to know the owner. Or, at least, the owner's husband.

A smile breaks across his face and, as if by magic, magic of a wholly different sort that comes of gathering with good friends on a Friday night after a shite-hole of a work week, the weight of his worldly woes dissipates. It's Christmas. The Three Broomsticks is decorated to the hilt: red and green faeries twinkle in holly and evergreen garlands hanging from the ceiling beams; wizarding carols from the Weird Sisters latest album blare from the wireless behind the bar; candles with gold ribbons festoon the rough wooden tables, tables that have been there for decades. Harry reflects, _It's good some things don't change._ More importantly, his children, all three of them, will be home in the next few days. He's more excited than he's willing to admit, and that makes everything worthwhile. Harry raises his hand in greeting.

As he makes his way across the rather empty bar, patrons stretch out their hands. Harry takes a moment to speaking to each person, giving them a reassuring smile and a firm handshake. Hannah give him a hug. “Good to see you, Harry,” she says brightly. “Been too long.”

“It has,” he replies. “Happy Christmas to you and Nev.”

She pats him on the back, and he continues towards his mates in the back of the bar. It _has_ been way too long since he's seen his friends.

“Got'cha yer usual, Harry,” Seamus says helpfully, pointing to a full pint on the table.

“Thanks, guys,” Harry says gratefully. “Been a while, yeah? Hey, Neville. They let you out tonight?”

“Yeah,” the Hogwarts professor says, raising his half-empty pint glass. “Don't have duty until Sunday.”

“That's good,” Harry says, shaking his hand. “Glad you're here.”

“Needed it. Your two Gryffindors are doing all right. But I 'spect they'll tell you that when you see them in a few days.”

“Good to know. Haven't heard from Lily in an age,” Harry replies. “Albus is little better about sending owls. Guess they're both busy with exams and essays and such.”

“Eh, boys,” Seamus says, “I never hear from mine neither.”

Harry smiles at his oldest and dearest friends. The three boys he met that first night at Hogwarts, the three who fought alongside him during the final war with Voldemort and his Death Eaters, who supported him throughout the darkest time—Seamus, Dean and Neville-- have remained his closest friends, Quidditch partners and drinking buddies well into their adult years. He reckons fighting a war, watching friends and family die for a cause that threatened the world in which they lived and had their being, would tend to make you tight with your mates. Harry is grateful to and for each and every one of them.

“What're you gonna do?” Ron says, as he looks up at Harry with a grin. “I never wrote my mum either.”

Harry places his hands on Ron's shoulders and pats him with affection. “I thought Molly paid you to write her.”

“Spurious rumor and you know it,” Ron says, leaning back slightly into Harry's chest. “She never had any money to send.”

Harry snorts. “You got something better, fudge and cookies and. . .”

The boys all groan in appreciation. “Merlin, Ron,” Dean says, “your mum makes the best rock cakes.”

“Cor blimey, not like those Hagrid makes,” Seamus says in agreement. “Molly always made those toffee candies I like so much.”

“Still does,” Ron says. “Rose says it's one of the things she misses about Hogwarts; no more candy packages from her gram.”

“I'm sure she gets something from Molly now and again, yeah?” Neville asks.

“Sure. Just 'cause she's a Ministry drone in France doesn't mean the owl doesn't fly over the Channel. Harry, you can keep doing that for as long as you like.” Ron moans as Harry gives him a shoulder rub.

“Molly keeps James in fudge,” Harry says as he digs into Ron's shoulders with his thumbs. “Like that?”

“Yeah.” Ron's eyes roll into the back of his head at the bliss, and moans.

Harry looks down at his mate, who has closed his eyes in total surrender. As he does, he misses the meaningful glance of the others around the table. Seamus, though, can't keep his mouth closed to save his soul. “Get a room, guys. You're making us jealous.”

Ron levels his head. “What? I'll rent Harry the masseuse out if you want him.”

Harry finishes the massage with a slap to Ron's head. “Oi! I am not for rent.” He pulls out the chair next to Ron and sits, finally, close enough for them to bump shoulders. “If you fall off your broom and roll like Ron did, then I might think about it.”

The table roars in laughter. “Fell off your broom like a first year, did'ya, Ron?” Seamus says. “Pur baby.”

“Hey, it was not my fault,” Ron replies in mock outrage. “I was teaching a firstie how to fly low to the ground and then somebody named James Sirius Potter”--he looks at Harry meaningfully--”brushed right behind him and threw me off.”

Another round of hoots and laughter. “Taught him well, yeah, Harry,” Dean says.

Harry grins into his beer. “I am not responsible for my son's misdeeds.”

“Hey, how's he working out there at Hogwarts, Ron?” Seamus asks.

“He's doing great, actually. When he's not pushing his elders off their brooms.”

“Still going to the University, Harry?”

Harry looks up at his mates with shining pride. “He is. He'll finish out with his class in July and then onto medical school at Edinburgh. He's been doing some work with the Healers Institute up at Dornach, but won't enter there until he's finished with Muggle med school.”

“That's great, Harry,” Neville says. “James was always such a good student.”

“Well, he wasn't so much until the Wizard's flu came and took two of his mates.”

They all grow silent, remembering the sickness that swept through the wizarding world seven years hence. Even the best Healers at St. Mungo's couldn't cure it fast enough. It took too many wizards, too many of the young. Everyone around the table knew too many who'd died in the epidemic that winter, and the loss had been profound.

“Sorry,” Harry mutters. “Didn't mean to bring that up.”

“Nah,” Seamus says. “We all were thinking it. Glad to know your boy is stepping up to become a Healer.”

Ron touches his glass to Harry's. “To James.”

Harry downs the last of his beer. “Need another.” He looks around for the server, but when he can't find her, he shoves back from the table. “I've got this round. What do you want?”

Everyone shakes their glass at him. “I'll come with,” Ron says, and rises out of his chair. He puts his arm around Harry's shoulders as they make their way to the bar to sort out another round.

“Did'ya see that?” Dean hisses. “They're all over each other. You think they're shagging?”

“What? Harry and Ron? Are you mad?” Seamus's eyes are comically wide.

“And why not?” Neville says. “Always thought it would be good for them to be together, now that Ron and Hermione are divorced.”

“They're _divorced_!?”

Dean slaps Seamus on the shoulder. “Oi, where the fuck have you been? They divorced ages ago.”

“They did?”

Neville and Dean groan and both slap Seamus again. “Hey, just 'cause I don't read the _The Bizzy Buzz_ section as devotedly as you two obviously do...” Seamus says in protest, his arms protecting his head.

“That?” Dean says, outraged. “I never. . .”

“Hannah does,” Neville admits quietly. “But she says it's important to keep up with who's fecking who and who's getting married, divorced, hexed and jinxed. It's a barkeep thing, I reckon.”

Dean shakes his head. “Anyway,” Neville continues, “Hannah says Hermione has started seeing some Muggle bloke, the barrister who works in the PM's office. You know, he came to work on the big scandal in Gringott's that went down over the summer.”

“Oh, the bloke with the nice suits?” Deans asks. “Yeah, saw him with Hermione a lot around that time.” He grew thoughtful. “Think it began then?”

Neville scoffs. “No. Hermione told Hannah at some Hogwarts prefect reunion party that she wasn't ready then. Not like her to lie to one of her mates like that, so I think now that it's December and she and Ron have put more time from the divorce that she's ready.”

“What about him and Harry, though?” Seamus asks.

“They've always been close,” Dean says, “maybe closer than brothers. Harry used to stay at The Burrow a lot during school."

Neville says, “And I know he and Ginny had a house close to Ron and Hermione's. I think they still live there, in those houses. Hermione has a flat here in London and Ginny and Draco moved up to Newcastle-on-Tyne when they got married.”

Seamus whistles low. “Fuck, man, I remember _that_.”

“I think Harry and Ron have always been a little bit in love. Maybe they didn't know it, maybe they still don't. But look at them--”

Three sets of eyes land on the two men at the bar, talking with several older wizards who have gathered round them. Harry's hair is still inky black mostly, though the silver is threading through it more prominently every year. He wears it shorter to tame it somewhat but it always has that just 'tumbled out of bed' look. And Ron, Ron is still Ron—tall, not as lanky, a bit more filled out. More care-worn. He's taken on a lot of responsibility for the business end of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Working for George and Lee Jordan and several others, keeping the books, keeping things _legal_ and the WWW out of trouble is a job and a half, particularly with the adult section George started several years ago. Ron discovered a latent talent for management and figures and has made WWW a successful, a wildly successful, global enterprise.

“Now that you mention it,” Dean says thoughtfully, “I can see it. They've always been good for each other.”

Seamus cocks his head, then huffs. “I think you're both mental. I don't see a fuckin' thing. They're best mates, like you and me,” he says, punching Dean in the shoulder. “Merlin's balls, they're not poufters. Married to birds. Fucked' em and more than once. Got five kids 'tween 'em.” Seamus pounds on Dean's shoulder with his fist with each pronouncement.

“Ow! Stop that, you shithead!”

Seamus stares at the men in question as they stand at the bar, waiting for their order to be filled. Ron turns to Harry and straightens the collar on Harry's shirt. His hand lingers a little too long, then slides around Harry's back to his shoulder; he gives Harry a quick, man-hug. To which Harry responds by placing his head on Ron's shoulder. It's brief but it's there and –

“Oh bloody hell. Fuck me sideways,” Seamus says, his hands coming up to cover his eyes.

“See?” Neville whispers. He's smug, having called it. “I was right.”

“You mean Hannah was right?”

“No, no,” Neville returns, “I told Hannah who asked Pavarti, who asked Roger Davies--”

“Who the fuck's that?” Seamus interjects.

“Ravenclaw, few years ahead of us. Works in the Department of Mysteries. Dark hair?” Seamus still looks confused. “Went to the Yule Ball with Fleur Delacour, fourth year?”

Recognition breaks across the Irishman's face. “Oh, _riiight_! That's Davies?”

“Yeah, just trust me on that,” Neville replies, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, Davies, yeah. So Davies told Parvati--”

“No, Parvati asked Davies,” Dean prompted.

“Actually, I think it may have been Katie Bell who told Alicia Spinnett, who heard from Oliver Wood—oh, did you hear Oliver and Alicia has another kid? Second one.”

“Boy, was it?” Dean asks.

“Think so,” Neville responds.

“Nice!” Seamus says. “That's two boys for them, just like me and Shannon.”

“You sure you're not carrying one this time?” Dean asks wickedly, “cause looks to me you've gained a stone in the last month or so.” He jabs Seamus in the belly.

“I have _not_ gained a stone, bastard,” Seamus says hotly. “Now that Patrick is off to Hogwarts, Shannon has more time to cook. This”--he arches his back to show a distinct pouching belly--”is proof of me woman's love.”

Neville and Dean laugh, hard, hanging their heads down to the floor..

“Fucking hell, Seamus,” Dean says, gasping, “never change, all right?”

“Hey, I'm just sayin'.”

Neville wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his jumper, still laughing. He sniffs and takes a deep breath to will away the last of the giggles. “Ok, so anyway, the point is that I heard from Hannah that Hermione told someone that Harry and Ron have moved in together in Harry's house. Maybe.”

“ _Maybe_?” Dean asks. “Neville, that's not information at all. Are they or aren't they living together? But more importantly,” he drops his head down low, “are they sharing a bed?”

“Eww!” Seamus exclaims. “Stop that.”

“You know, we could just _ask_ them,” Neville says.

“What? And go where no man has gone before? Ask them about their personal lives?” Seamus is put out. “We don't do that sorta thing. We're male, and we're British, well, you two are, but we Irish blokes are the same way. We don't get information directly from the source. We go on innuendo, rumour and the gossips mags. We'd be breakin' 'the code'.”

There is general agreement to what Seamus says. No one dares ask. Despite being Gryffindors, no man breaks 'the code.'

“Well, how're we gonna find out, then?” Dean asks.

“Do we really need to know?” Seamus returns, shoving Dean.

“Yes,” Dean and Neville reply together.

That confession brings silence and a bit of blushing and some general head-scratching. “Oi! It's Christmas,” Seamus says suddenly.

“What?” Neville says, looking around the room.

“Christmas, ya know,” Semus continues. “It's how me and Shannon got together. Kissin' under the mistletoe.”

Dean and Neville look at the ball of mistletoe hanging in each of the doorways and arched entries of the pub. “Pure genius, I tell you,” Dean says.

Neville pulls out his wand and murmurs, “ _Accio_ mistletoe”; a ball of mistletoe hanging in a dark entryway to a vacant booth moves slowly towards them.

“Hurry up! They're coming back!” Seamus exclaims.

Neville directs the mistletoe to the exposed wooden beam directly above the chair Harry had been sitting in. It bumps against the beam and hovers. “Is there a sticking charm?” he asks frantically. Harry and Ron are making their way over towards them, directing trays of drink and food.

Dean whips out his wand and hisses. The mistletoe freezes, presumably stuck to the beam.

“Harry! Ron!” Seamus calls out, waving his hand.

“They know you're here, you git,” Dean whispers, stomping on his foot.

“Ow! I know that. Just...well, feck, just letting them know we're waiting,” Seamus finishes, lamely.

Harry directs the tray of beers to settle lightly on the table before them, while Ron directs baskets of piping hot fish and chips. “May as well eat something while we're here,” he says. “Didn't think we'd ever get away from those two chaps.”

“Thanks, Harry, Ron!” Seamus says enthusiastically, taking a pint from Harry. “Was starting to get faint.”

Ron rolls his eyes. “Hey, hasn't Shannon put you on a diet?” he asks, as Dean slaps Seamus's hand away from the chip basket.

“I was just going to eat a few!” Seamus gives Dean a murderous glare.

“Cheers,” Ron says, touching his glass to Neville's, then around the table.

“Cheers,” Harry returns. “Ta, Ron.”

The men touch glasses and exchange quiet smiles. Neville and Dean see it and their faces light up.

“Oh, hey, look at that,” Neville says with what he hopes is an innocent look on his face. “Mistletoe!”

Harry and Ron crane their necks over and upwards. “Hey, how'd that get there?” Ron asks. “I didn't see that before.”

“Always been there, I reckon,” Neville says, taking a long, long pull of his beer. He widens his eyes as Seamus threatens to have a giggling fit. Dean takes care of it.

“Ow!”

Harry bites into a piece of fish. “Hot!” he exclaims, waving his hand in front of his face and dropping the fish onto a plate. “Really hot.” He lifts the beer and takes a drink. “Whew.”

“So, mistletoe?” Neville prompts, pointing upward.

Ron shrugs. “Get Hannah over her and give her a kiss, if you're so interested.” He stuffs several chips into his mouth. “Need some vinegar.” He turns and calls out, “Hannah! Got some malt?”

She waves and holds up a bottle. Neville picks up his wand. “I got it.”

Technically, they aren't supposed to Summon items across the headspace of a busy pub, but the way is clear and the bottle thwacks soundly into Neville's hand.

“Thanks, mate.” Ron opens it and covers the pile on his plate liberally. “Remember when you were learning that spell? You smacked everyone in the head with shite at least once.”

“At least it was only once,” Neville says immediately.

They all fall silent as they eat and drink.

Seamus looks at the mistletoe again. “Did I ever tell you that Shannon and I got together because of mistletoe? Good stuff, that.”

“Yeah, it was at my house,” Harry says, as he swallows another mouthful. “And once you started, you couldn’t stop. Caught you snogging in James's bedroom.”

“Oh, yeah,” Seamus says. “Forgot about that.”

“I haven't. Thought about doing a memory charm on myself after that.” Harry balls up a paper serviette and tosses it at him.

Seamus smiles and bats it away.

“From the earliest times,” Neville says thoughtfully, “mistletoe has been one of the most magical, mysterious, and sacred plants of European folklore. We wizards use it in healing potions to boost fertility and as a protection against poisoning. It's the main ingredient in love potions, so for that reason we use a different species for things like decorations.” He twirls his finger around above his head. “But mistletoe has also been used as offerings between combatants as symbols of peace and between families as tokens of friendship and fidelity. We oftentimes forget that part of mistletoe's lore.” He looks around at the four faces staring at him, and then shrugs. “I know this stuff; just thought you'd like to know.”

“Main ingredient in love potions, eh?” Harry says. “No wonder the Auror potions lab is heavily shielded.”

“Yeah. We're constantly confiscating the stuff from students.”

“So maybe we all ought to snog under the mistletoe.” Harry's eye twinkle in amusement.

“But you're directly under it,” Seamus says.

Harry smirks at Seamus, then turns to Ron, and quirks an eyebrow.

Ron puts down his pint, turns to Harry, grabs the back of his neck, and smashes his lips into Harry's. It's kind of a ridiculous kiss and, truth be told, looks like it kind of hurts, judging from the grimace on Harry's face. But it goes on, even with Harry flailing. Ron finally releases him, draws his forearm across his lips then finishes off his beer. “Like that?” He smiles, and then says, “So who's next?”

Seamus, Dean and Neville all make gagging sounds and raise their hands in front of their faces. “Not me,” Seamus says loudly. “I'm married!”

Ron scoffs, “We're all mates here. I can snog you just as well as Harry. If you're man enough.”

“No, that's all right,” Neville says calmly, belying his reddened face.

“You were just taking the piss out of us, weren't you?” Dean asks.

“Total fakers,” Seamus mutters.

“I was sure Angelina told Hannah who said George said he caught you two going at it like crazed weasels in the store room last month,” Neville says, shaking his head.

“Well,” Harry says, setting his pint glass down on the table in front of him, “just goes to show you shouldn't believe everything you hear.”

“Especially from George,” Ron adds. “George is a big fat liar. And needs glasses. Everyone knows that.”

 

***~***

 

Ron pushes Harry up against the wall of _their_ house as soon as they Apparate in. “I feel kinda bad about that,” Ron says. “Lying to them.”

“George didn't see us,” Harry says, stretching his neck so Ron can bite it. “Angelina did. Nev just got it backwards.”

“Their loss, then.”

Harry cannot respond because Ron has mashed his lips to Harry's, and thrust his tongue into Harry's impossibly warm mouth. Harry melts into him, winding his arms around his body, one leg hooking Ron's thighs; he feels Ron's aroused cock digging into his hip. It only serves to excite him more.

“Um...” Harry breathes on the inhale, “I don't bloody get why everyone's talking about it. Us.” Ron shushes him again with a breath-stealing kiss. “Like it's a big deal.”

“It's not. Just novel,” Ron says, punctuating his comment with a thrust of his hips into Harry's. “Fuck, I gotta have you now.”

He pulls Harry away from the wall by his cloak, which flies off and onto the floor as they stumble into the lounge. The long leather sofa they stole from Ron and Hermione's former home next door is closest so Ron pushes him onto it and follows, bouncing them both.

“You know,” Harry says as he tugs on Ron's jumper, “we're not gonna be able to do this just anywhere when the kids come home on Sunday.”

“Know that. 'S why I'm doing it now.” Ron's voice is muffled in his shirt.

“It's been eight months,” Harry says, as he tosses Ron's shirt onto the floor. “Think we'll get tired of this?”

“This?” Ron asks, squeezing Harry's erection. “Never. Though fucking on the stairs wasn't a good idea to begin with.”

Harry snorts, remembering the banister breaking as Ron pounded into him the day they put their youngest children on the train to Hogwarts. Two months of sneaking around during the summer hols had gotten old very fast. “Yeah, that was dodgy.”

“God, Harry, shut up,” Ron says as he works his hand into Harry's trousers. “Touch me!”

Harry responds by Banishing Ron's trousers and pants with a burst of wandless magic. He can't do it all the time, but when he's worked up, Harry can manage feats of wandlessness, always to Ron's amazement.

“Love when you do that, mate,” Ron says, tugging Harry's shoes and socks off. He slows, then lowers his face to Harry's, kissing him more gently and with so much care. “Been a great eight months.”

“It's been an amazing eight months,” Harry responds, then draws Ron close. “Still can't believe this. Wanted it for so long.”

“Wish you'd said something, like, when you decided you thought of me like this,” Ron says. “Hermione was more'n happy to hand me over to you.”

“'Course she was. She trusts me to look out for you.”

Ron pulls back just enough to look Harry in the eyes. “Let's not talk about her, all right?”

Harry smiles, running his hand through Ron's red hair. It's longer than it's been in a while, a little wild, and the first strands of silver shine in the light of the fireplace. He's still _Ron_ , the boy he met at age eleven on the train to Hogwarts, the boy who was his guide to the wizarding world, to magic, to his _life_. Just when friendship turned to love, love to overwhelming _want_ Harry's not quite sure. Maybe it had always been there just under the surface, bubbling softly until...until it was _right_. They'd both married their first true sweethearts, had children, lived good lives. Harry knew something had been missing from his life, something even Ginny, as sweet and understanding as she'd been, could never fulfill.

When Ron also set aside his marriage, that _something_ exploded in Harry. Approaching Ron had taken many agonizing months, until Hermione sat them both down and forced Harry to admit to the storm within his heart.

Now, in his arms, _his_ Ron, is gloriously naked and writhing and thrusting and perfect. “'m not gonna last much longer,” Ron murmurs.

Harry acts quickly, rolling them off the sofa only to land very softly on a wordlessly cast Cushioning charm. They roll towards the fire, the heat chasing away any chill. Harry lands on top of Ron and crawls off, much to Ron's very vocal displeasure.

“Fuck, man, get back here!”

But Harry only smiles again, desire inflaming his senses. “On your hands and knees.”

Ron lies there for just a second, then rolls over. “This had better be good, mate. Knee's been acting up.”

He rises slowly onto his knees and presents his pale, freckled arse. Harry's heart skips a few beats as he realizes he's going to fuck his best mate, fuck this perfect arse. He concentrates his thoughts and magic to create lube, but then, impulsively, he parts the muscular globes and with a hastily cast cleansing spell, he licks Ron from balls to coccyx.

“Holy fucking Merlin!” Ron exclaims. “What're you--”

Harry's read about this, but hadn't had the nerve to try it—until now. He's had enough to drink to feel emboldened and then licks Ron's hole, causing it to quiver. He licks again, and again, and Ron is babbling nonsense. The musky odour is perfectly Ron, and Harry targets the rosy hole again, worming his tongue into it as it relaxes and clenches. Ron is shaking from the gentle assault, his balls drawn up high and tight to his body. Harry remembers through a haze of passion to stroke Ron's cock, hard and weeping copiously.

“Harry, I'm gonna come in about two seconds!”

Harry's only response is to jab his tongue into the heated, quaking flesh and to squeeze extra hard. Ron's body shakes as he shouts, and with a soft spasm, Ron's orgasm hits. He tries not to push back onto Harry's tongue, but he does; Harry is turned on by Ron's enthusiastic response and at the last second, he comes in just two strokes with his free hand.

Ron can't take it anymore, and he collapses in segments—hands, thighs, forearms, hips, stomach—to the carpet. Harry, with his last coherent thought, falls to Ron's side, throwing his leg over Ron's hip. “Fuck, man.”

Ron is still breathing hard. “That was unexpected. That was rimming, yeah?” Harry can only nod in response. “I'm gonna try that on you.” He breathes hard for several second. “Just as soon as the world stops spinning and I stop dying.”

Harry pats Ron's arm, then slides his hand to rest on Ron's heart. “Take your time. I think that took care of me for the next several days.”

Ron huffs a laugh. “For the next week.”

Finally, they reluctantly part and roll onto their backs. “Reckon we can't do that with all those young, impressionable ears about,” Ron says finally.

The light from the fireplace dances across the ceiling. The gaily decorated Christmas tree in the corner adds a lovely soft, green glow. Harry has never felt more content in all his life. He takes Ron's hand in his and kisses his knuckles. “Reckon not. But it'll be good to have them all here.”

“It will be,” Ron agrees quickly. “Good to be a family again.”

“Think maybe we should have Dean, Seamus and Nev over one night?” Harry asks. “Think it's time to end the charade.”

“Yeah, but let's do it after the kids go back to Hogwarts. Don't wanna ruin Seamus's Christmas.”

Harry laughs and pulls Ron closer. Seamus can wait. The world can wait.


End file.
